Page 15 of Royal Darling
He slouches down in his seat, his eyes at half-mast. “I’m your guitar teacher, so I’m going with you.”
My jaw drops, my heart pounding. Anna said no to Jackson Walker. His scandal plus my scandal is too much. Do I dare risk the wrath of my family? On the other hand, my family is already furious with me, and now that the press has put Jackson and me together, I’m knee-deep in the trouble I was supposed to avoid. It cannot possibly get any worse. Why shouldn’t I grab this opportunity?
“Wonderful,” I tell Jackson, working to sound casual. I cannot believe this is really happening. I’m spending the week with a legendary bad boy. That has to change a person. In the most delicious way. At the very least, I’ll get guitar lessons from a master.
“Right,” he says.
Oliver reaches across me and holds his palm out to Jackson. “Need the boat keys. I’ll pack your things, deliver them to the jet, and then I’ll have your boat moved to the port in Villroy.”
Jackson straightens. “Why can’t I leave the boat here?”
“No permit. No security.”
“It’s not of interest to anyone. It’s an old houseboat.”
“They know it’s yours now, sir. Keys.”
“It’s the safest place for it,” I tell Jackson.
Jackson blows out a breath, giving me an uneasy sideways look. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of having to return to Villroy with all the attention that will bring, but it would be much worse to leave the boat here unattended.
He digs the keys out of his pocket and drops them in Oliver’s hand. “Just pack everything in the dresser, my toiletries, my laptop, and my guitar. Guitar is in the wardrobe.” He slouches down in his seat and puts his sunglasses back on.
I can’t help my smile.
Jackson
I’m not planning to shag Emma. That’s not what this is about. When she spoke from the heart, her eyes shining with tears, her voice raw and real, asking me if I know what it’s like to realize you’re stuck and need a fresh start, well, she got to me. That is my life in a nutshell. And not gonna lie, the idea of her asking some random guy to rub his improperwhateveroff on her rang alarm bells. Christ. She’s too damn innocent to know what she’s inviting. I would’ve stayed away with just a lingering sense of being a shit for letting it happen, but then she walked into a mob of paps and press like a lamb to the slaughter. They took advantage of her vulnerability and nearly trampled her in the process. Ihadto take action. Unfortunately, so did her guard. Why the hell didn’t she wait for her guards to escort her? She needs a keeper. Ironic that it’s me, a washed-up musician with my own scandal to live down.
She might be more of a mess than I am, and somehow that makes me feel better to find someone else in the same fucked-up place. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just sick of being alone. Maybe I don’t know what the fuck I want. I know what I don’t want—more long days and nights trying to draw blood from stone. I’m under contract and have to return to the studio in January to lay down the next album. It’s now mid-November. If I don’t produce, I don’t get paid my next advanceandI get sued for breach of contract. And if I go belly up, there’s no more money for Charlie’s son, Jack. He’s named after me. How could I not look after him?
I can feel Emma’s tension as she looks out the window at the passing scenery on the way to the airport. She’s anxious to make her escape, far from the judgment of others. I get that. Her vulnerability sucked me in. I’m probably going to regret this. I’m going away with a now infamous princess, and my only escape, my boat, will be near her home, which will definitely not go unnoticed. I’ll probably have to face a mob when I turn up there next week. I should be fucking knighted for this. For real.
So we’ll do the friend thing. I don’t do relationships. And I definitely don’t do virgin princesses. It’ll be entertaining, though, watching this prim and proper princess attempt to be a rebel. She’ll probably think it’s wild just to play a song with a swear word in it.
I straighten out of my slouch and try to stretch my legs in the backseat.
Emma beams at me, her face lighting up. “I’m so looking forward to learning guitar.”
My muscles relax. It’s been a while since someone looked so happy just to be with me. I’ve pissed off a lot of people recently. “Yeah? And what will you teach me?”
She worries her luscious lower lip. “I could teach you languages, etiquette, ballroom dance, take your pick.”
“Hmm, such a difficult decision with all these enticing choices.”
“I studied philosophy at university, if that’s more to your liking.”
I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, suddenly tired. I haven’t been sleeping well. “Right then, as your new guitar teacher, your first lesson is to listen more than you talk.”
“Because it will sharpen my sense of hearing, tuning me into the frequencies of voices and ambient background?”
I nearly laugh. Like I would ever in a million years come up with that. “Yeah.”
She shuts up, presumably listening to ambient background. She’s quiet the rest of the way, and I doze for a bit.
When the car arrives at the airport, she says, “I heard you breathing a lot.”
“I do that. Almost every day.”
